Such a Lonely Day
by irl-alfed
Summary: Gamzee comes down from the vents for once to "visit" Karkat- except he has formed a habit of stalking, and this along with simple loss of structure and sanity results in pretty creepy events.


Motherfucking subjugglators invading your thinkpan. They aren't you. They aren't part of you. They started out all quiet and such, subtle. You tried to eat more of your slime, but every time it touched your tongue it sent pain through your skull and down your vertebrae. So you just stopped.

But then everything around you stopped.

Stopped working they way you were used to.

People around you stopped talking.

Well, they just stopped conversing with you.

So you stopped talking.

You only have the subjugglators as company now, and they ain't nice to you. They tell you to kill him. They tell you to kill the one you love. They tell you to kill everyone lower than you. And you hate them. But you can't control them. You're glad to survive each day. Even this one, as lonesome as you are. Such a lonely day. And it's all yours. You shouldn't have to motherfucking live like this.

Occasionally, you will climb down from the vents and reopen your wounds in order to paint pretty little pictures or to write notes for him. The one you want as your matesprit. And he will always find you there, bleeding, not noticing streams of tears flowing down your cheeks, shakily writing some snippet of a poem you could have written for him if you were well. And you'll notice him and skitter away into your vents again, shivering and desperately wanting to come to him when he calls your name and shakes the grate.

But you can't. As much as you want to, you can't. Because all you'd end up doing is hurt him. And if that were ever to happen, you'd find the nearest rope or blade and end it all right there.

So all you do is watch him from your cold, metal, enclosed perch, quietly following him through wherever it is you are. He cries every day. Every motherfucking day, and you're too much of a gogdamned coward to go and comfort him. But it's the only way to make sure he's safe from you.

You are currently crawling down to where he is sleeping on one of your old horn piles. You remember how easy it was to get close to him back then, when you were stable. You vaguely recall nearly letting your red feelings spill during a feelings jam. You smile at the thought, but a subjugglator smacks the endorphin-producing notion away with a quick scolding and an insult.

You are now sitting next to him. You survey him adoringly, reminding yourself that you must be careful, for if he was to wake at this moment he would be in danger, no matter how relievingly balanced you feel right now.

You notice something crumpled up in his hand. You curiously hold out your thumb and forefinger, swiftly making the decision to remove it from his grasp.

Luckily, he doesn't even stir. You sigh and look back down at the piece of paper, unfolding it and reading over a note you left in his favorite block recently.

_And if you go_

_I want to go with you_

Again, just a piece of old lyrics and second-long thoughts you had formulated long ago or on the spot whilst letting him into your thinkpan. Your best friend. Your flush crush. Your own Karkat, just for you. How you dream of a matespritship with him. But you know it can't happen.

You notice something written in different handwriting, however, and it looks as if he has added his own words.

_And if you die_

_I want to die with you_

This is unusual. He has never replied to any of your messages. You look over to his face that looks restless in his sleep. You find a pen on the floor. He must have used it. You write a single line.

_Take your hand and walk away_

You lose what you want to say next in the churning whirlpool that is your rotten pan. This is the closest you can get to a conversation with anyone, and you feel the paranoia creeping up the nape of your neck. Blood pusher racing, you drop the pen and press the paper against his chest, making sure that it stays there. You begin to crawl away, but stop. You aren't finished just yet.

You scoot back to him and run a hand over his cheek, feeling the soft, warm skin send explosions of reacting nerves over your arm. You feel your breath hitch. You haven't touched another troll in ages.

But you still aren't done.

You lean down and gently kiss his cheek, holding for a few seconds. You bring yourself back up, having to hold yourself back from the desire to wake him. Quietly, your voice raspy and dusty from disuse, you whisper.

"I love you."

With this, you slink away into your pitch-black home to enjoy the hollowness in your blood pusher.

Such a lonely day.

And it is only yours.


End file.
